


Unification of Forces

by galaxysoup



Category: The A-Team (2010)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Mental Health Issues, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 07:58:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2805296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxysoup/pseuds/galaxysoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beginnings can be so exciting! Will you make new friends? Get to do a barrel roll in a helicopter? Accidentally become part of the first manned mission to Mars? <i>Who knows?</i></p><p>Just after the beginning it can be a little weird, though. This is the A-Team, in three just-afters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unification of Forces

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anemptymargin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anemptymargin/gifts).



> WARNINGS: I have a tendency to over-warn for things in my stories, but here goes: The first part of this fic is told from Murdock’s point of view and therefore deals with the ways he interacts with the world and the coping mechanisms he has for it. While it’s ultimately a story about friends watching out for each other and as the author I think it’s quite fun in tone, it does deal with mental illness (including what I guess can be best described as a panic attack, and some internalised ableism). If you feel I’ve mishandled anything, let me know!  
> SPOILERS: The 2010 movie, and a little bit for the season one episode ‘Children of Jamestown’.  
> NOTES: To anemptymargin: I’m sorry I didn’t manage to get any romance in here! I really tried to write you a Face/Murdock story, but nothing I played with came together as well as this one… and as we know, anything related to the A-Team is all about the plan coming together! Hopefully this is still fun. :)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

THE BEGINNING: SOMEWHERE IN MEXICO

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

At first, Murdock is just annoyed. He doesn’t want to be stuck with cry-baby no-flying BA any more than BA wants to be stuck with him, especially without Face and Hannibal to act as go-betweens. It’s been _months_ since Mexico and Murdock really doesn’t see how BA can still be upset with him. They’d survived! Only bad guys died! BA is one of very few (by Murdock’s estimate, four exactly) people who can say that it’s definitely possible to do a barrell roll in a helicopter! (That’s valuable information. You never know when it’s going to come up on Jeopardy.)

Granted, Murdock does feel kind of bad about the death of BA’s van, but when he’d realised how much the vehicle meant to BA he and Face had organized a very tasteful candlelight vigil followed by a rollicking wake to send the spirit of the dear departed off to Radiator Springs. As far as he’s concerned that really should have taken care of the mourning process, even if BA had called him crazy and sulked through the whole event. (In retrospect, it’s possible Murdock shouldn’t have tried to conduct the ceremony in Car Horn. He’s not exactly fluent.)

Of course, it’s also possible the crankiness is just a permanent part of BA’s personality. He seems pretty okay with Face and Hannibal, and Murdock’s seen him be quite sweet with local children (lesson learned: do not comment on perceived sweetness of subject _Baracus_ , subtype _BA_ ), but Murdock hasn’t actually known him for that long. It’s hard to say for sure.

Richard Attenborough recommends a period of at least six months of observation before drawing conclusions about the behaviors of any unfamiliar life forms, and Murdock’s long decided that basically everybody is an unfamiliar life form. (Including himself. Himself is definitely going to require more than six months of observation. It says so in his file.) It’s possible that BA’s attitude is something Murdock’s just going to have to adjust himself to.

Ha! Is that what people mean by ‘well-adjusted’? That’s crazy!

“- not spending nine hours alone in a car with this lunatic, Colonel!” BA protests. “He just started giggling for no reason! It’s creepy!”

Well, that at least he can fix! Murdock slings an arm around BA’s shoulders. “Not to worry, muchacho! Flying will get us there in a quarter of the time, we’ll be like Hop Harrigan and Tank Tink- _oof.”_

That elbow to the side was completely unnecessary. BA needs to learn to use his words.

“I am not letting you fly me _anywhere,”_ BA snaps. “Mystery to me what you’re doing here at all. Colonel, what the hell do we even need a pilot for, anyway?”

The sat phone is staticky but they can both still hear it when Hannibal sighs. “BA, it’s fly or drive. It’ll take Face and I at least ten hours to get over the mountains to the rendezvous point, so you have the time to drive if you want. I’ll let you two negotiate.” He says the last part drily. They all know how that negotiation’s going to go if Murdock’s the only one available to try and force BA onto an aircraft.

“I provide a very valuable service to this team,” Murdock says loftily, rubbing his side.

“What, putting us in danger from _both_ sides?” BA says, rolling his eyes. He puts away the phone and stomps off to check on their ‘borrowed’ jeep.

Murdock does provide a valuable service. Hannibal’s plans usually involve some kind of air support, whether they can get BA to participate or not. Okay, so their inaugural team flight was pretty exciting. And there was that one time last week where he nearly crashed a stolen prop plane into HQ, but in his defense the plane had _started_ the flight as a twin-engine. And so what if sometimes he doesn’t - sometimes he isn’t - 

Face likes his antics, he’s said so (sometimes after he stops screaming.) Hannibal smiles when Murdock’s around. In a team this size, operating out on their own the way they do, it’s not a question of just having a _pilot_. It’s important to have a _Murdock._ Even if he’s not, not entirely - okay, so he’s crazy. Lots of people are crazy. Murdock’s pretty sure Face and Hannibal have some crazy in them, too.

It has been a pretty wild few months since Mexico, though. There hasn’t really been time for Hannibal to sit down and think about staffing issues, and it would probably take a lot of paperwork to return Murdock. And this is all, this is so _new_. Face likes him, they’re buddies, but if it’s Face liking him against BA not being able to stand him, and Hannibal can find a (less capable) pilot with all his marbles attached who BA will agree to fly with…

Murdock has never really been the kind of person who can just slot like a puzzle piece into a pre-defined role. He colors outside the lines, always has and always will, and he knows that doesn’t always work for a unit. He’s crazy, but he’s not stupid. (And yes, he’s read _Catch-22_. Yes, he feels lied to.)

Well. He’ll just have to show BA that he can be, if not normal, then sane-ish. He can do that. And then BA will like him, and so will Face, and there won’t be any reason for Hannibal to think about staffing issues. Or for Murdock to go back to Mexico.

Murdock _is not_ going back to Mexico. He’s pretty sure Face at least would visit him, and that’s a comforting thought, but he would still rather find himself a Sancho Panza and wander the Spanish countryside with a lance than go back to Mexico.

But it’s okay. This plan is completely doable. Accounting for terrain and detours, Murdock’s got about nine hours to convince BA he can be okay. He can do this! He’s done a couple of cons with Face. He’ll just run a con on BA. 

No longer shall he be Howlin’ Mad Murdock! For the next nine hours the H. M. shall stand for Horribly Mundane!

“Did you just say something?” BA asks, frowning.

“No.”

(Oops.)

“Did you just say something in a British accent?” BA presses, eyes narrowing.

“No.”

(Double oops.)

BA shakes his head. “Whatever. Just get in the jeep. Sooner we leave, the sooner we get there.”

The secret of a successful con, Murdock has discovered, is to overwhelm the target with so much con-specific information that they simply don’t have the processing power to contemplate anything besides what you present to them. Accordingly, as they drive Murdock takes care to tell BA all about Horribly Mundane Murdock’s favorite sport (golf), his favorite color (an unobtrusive navy blue), his hobbies (trimming bonzai trees and crocheting doilies for an old folk’s home), his favorite music (radio static), his favorite television show (reruns of This Old House), his fondest -

To BA’s credit, he manages half an hour of this monologue before snapping at Murdock to shut up and quit filling the air with his fool nonsense, which to be honest was about as much of Horribly Mundane Murdock as the Howlin’ Mad version could take too.

“Look, how about you find something on the radio?” BA says, rubbing his forehead. “And then we can listen to it. And not talk.”

This is an excellent idea, and Murdock is sad he hadn’t thought of it first. He loves music! And the ‘borrowed’ jeep even has pre-set radio stations!

It turns out that you can make your own music by using the pre-set buttons like a piano. 

It turns out that BA doesn’t appreciate that discovery.

“Just pick a station!”

Murdock sighs and leaves the radio where it is. A few minutes later they discover that BA also doesn’t like it when you combine slightly staticky local folk music with (expertly sung, he never went pro or anything but he sounds _fantastic_ in an institutional shower room) Wagnerian opera.

BA is turning out to be a _really trying_ road trip buddy.

“Look, you were a soldier once, right?” BA says, and oh boy does Murdock have _ten things_ he wants to say to that but BA’s left eye is twitching so he lets it go. “You must have known how to be silent at some point. Consider silence an order.”

“I outrank you,” Murdock feels compelled to point out.

“Yeah, well I’m the one driving. No!” He says when Murdock opens his mouth. “You are not driving!”

Okay. So. This isn’t going very well. Cons are out, radio is out. Talking and speaking are out. 

Murdock’s starting to feel pretty uneasy. Operation: Make BA Like Him Or At Least Think He’s Normal is looking pretty FUBAR.

“Best guess we’ve got about seven hours of driving left,” BA says. “Take the next seven hours to think about how quiet you can be.”

Murdock knows time. He’s good at time - both how it progresses linearly and how it can loop and warp on you if you’re not careful. His own recent timeline goes something like this:

1) Some Really Bad Stuff (don’t think about it)  
2) The Horrible Time after The Really Bad Stuff (don’t think about that either)  
3) Meeting Hannibal, Face, and BA! (think about that a lot!)  
4) FLYING (WHEEEE)

He doesn’t want to go back to #2, as embodied by Mexico. The staff there had probably been trying to help, and they _had_ helped a little, but they hadn’t understood that even if he wasn’t allowed back in a plane (or chopper, or ultralight, or glider, or particularly aerodynamic cafeteria tray) he still needed to _fly_. He’d only just started figuring out the trick of it himself when Hannibal had stopped him cold in a hallway. 

What if he can’t figure it out again? What if he can’t ever make it back to #4?

No. No. Don’t think about it. Don’t let it grab you. BA’s right - he knows how to be a soldier. He can be quiet and still, he can wait and watch and focus on a mission and see it through. He’s done it plenty of times, even since leaving Mexico.

Of course, those times he usually has something to _do_ , a task to complete or one of Hannibal’s wacky plans to contemplate. Right now even the scenery isn’t interesting.

No. It’s okay. He can do this. The mission: be quiet, be still, don’t annoy BA, stay with the team. There’s a quiet spot deep inside himself that he can tap into when he needs it, he can just…

Oh, no.

Where is it?

The self-doubt he had before they started driving. The anxiety about putting BA at ease. Thinking about the Bad Stuff, why did he think about the Bad Stuff, he knows better, and now he can’t find the quiet spot he’s going to need to - 

No. No. He can do this. He just needs a reason. If he can’t find the still spot inside, he’ll just have to make one outside. Some reason to stay quiet. Like… like…

A puppy! A sleeping puppy. A sleeping puppy on his lap, and he has to be very quiet and not move at all because otherwise he’ll wake up the puppy, and who wants to do that? Puppies are adorable, with their velvety fur and soft floppy ears and cute little noses. They feel so nice in your lap, warm and breathing and maybe making those little kicking motions when they dream that they’re chasing rabbits.

“I know I’m going to regret this, but what are you doing?”

“Petting the puppy,” Murdock says. “His name’s Billy. Isn’t he cute? You gotta keep your voice low, BA, so you don’t wake him up. You can rub his ears if you want, though, it won’t bother him.”

BA stares at him. “The hell, man.”

It takes him a minute to cotton on, and then Murdock’s stomach drops. BA can’t see the puppy. BA doesn’t think the puppy’s there. BA thinks Murdock’s even crazier now.

Murdock stops petting Billy, and after a minute BA mutters something under his breath and turns back to the road.

Billy’s still lying there, though, all peaceful and adorable. Murdock’s hands _itch_ to pet him again.

He shoves his hands under his thighs and sits on them. No petting the puppy. Bad Murdock.

Billy whimpers a little, and Murdock panics. If Billy wakes up and cries, he’s not going to be able to resist trying to soothe him, and then BA will notice.

He waits until BA’s head turns towards the side window, and then he quickly gathers Billy up and transfers him to the back seat, watching anxiously in the rear-view mirror as the puppy wiggles and heaves a sigh and then, finally, settles back to sleep. 

His lap feels really cold without the puppy’s reassuring presence. It’s a lot harder to keep from jittering now. He clenches his fists, and the ache in his knuckles helps a little bit but then his muscles get tired. He needs to move, or he needs to _fly_ -

No. He can do this. He _can._ He’s not, he’s not _irredeemably_ crazy. He can function. He can fly. It’s not going to be like before, like it was in Mexico when the Bad Stuff caught him and held him fast, when he was drowning and no one could see.

It feels like he’s drowning now, though. It feels like the Bad Stuff is getting closer. It’s hard to breathe. He’s starting to remember details again, the smell of burning fuel and the sound of screaming...

He’s not going to be able to do this. He’s going to fall into the Bad Stuff and drown or he’s going to burst trying to escape it, and either way BA will complain. Hannibal will realise that it’s better to have a good soldier who’s also a fantastic mechanic than it is to have a barely-functional pilot who likes to fly upside-down. Face - oh no, _Face_ \- will realise how much _work_ he is, and he’ll start to think, why have a friend who’s so much work?

Murdock will end up back in Mexico. It might be a base in Germany instead, or someplace in the States, but it will still be Mexico really. Bogged down and unable to breathe. No flying. 

Murdock feels flying in his bones. When the plane loses momentum it stalls and crashes. He’s stalling _now._

He takes a few deep breaths, counting and holding each one, and it helps a little (thank you, Nurse #3 From Mexico who eventually left to start an organic bee farm). It gives him a little more lift. A tiny updraft.

He glances at the clock in the dashboard. Six more hours.

Oh _God_ he can’t do this for six more hours he can’t he can’t it’s an eternity. Why did he think about the Bad Stuff when he knew he was going to have to be sane for nine hours? He knows what thinking about the Bad Stuff does. It’s like saying Bloody Mary in front of a mirror.

Blood. _God._ Why does he do this to himself.

He tries the breathing thing again, but it barely gives him an updraft this time. It’s an up-breeze.

Haha _oh God._

This is not good. This is very not good. He doesn’t like this _at all._

“Whoa, hey. Murdock?”

What’s he going to do for six hours. What.

“Hey, hey. Murdock, look at me.”

The jeep’s stopped. Murdock’s door is open and BA is crouched down next to it. He looks worried. 

Murdock’s ruined everything.

“What? No, you haven’t. Come on, look at me.” BA pulls at him until he slides around, legs hanging out of the car door, facing BA. “Murdock, you gotta let me know what’s happening here, okay?”

He puts his hands over Murdock’s fists, squeezing gently until Murdock’s fingers loosen a little. Murdock’s chest clenches.

“Come on, man. I need you to use your words.”

Murdock laughs. It’s bad laughter. He claps his hands over his mouth.

BA pulls Murdock’s hands down and uses the end of his sleeve to wipe Murdock’s face. He’s very gentle about it. It makes Murdock feel terrible. “Can you tell me what you need right now?”

Murdock takes a breath, and then another. “Don’t know. How to explain.”

“Give it a shot for me.”

Murdock rakes his fingers through his hair and hangs on tight, pulling it hard. BA’s hands raise as if he wants to try to soothe him again, but Murdock flinches back and after a second he lowers them to rest on Murdock’s knees instead. It’s not quite too much.

How to explain. How to explain and not sound crazier.

“My head is, it gets - the kid’s game? The floor is lava?”

“Okay, sure,” BA says.

“The floor is lava.” Murdock nods. “You gotta keep flying. Stop flying, you stall. Stall, you fall.” 

“Fall, you burn?” BA guesses.

“Worse. _Mexico._ You drown.”

“Okay.” BA scowls, and Murdock’s too messed up to tell if it’s angry-scowling or thinking-scowling. His breath hitches. It’s probably not thinking-scowling.

“So, you need to fly?” BA continues, and Murdock forces himself to pay attention. “No, you said the floor in your head is lava. So you need to fly in your head.” He winces a little at the phrasing, and then sighs. “Is that what all the crazy’s about? The accents and the singing and the invisible dog and everything? That’s flying?”

Murdock’s fingers relax a little. “Yeah,” he says, surprised. BA isn’t supposed to understand. BA is supposed to back away from him and call Hannibal and get someone to take Murdock away.

“And the lava, what’s that?”

Murdock shakes his head, hunching in. “No. Don’t look at it. Don’t think about it.”

“Okay, lava’s the bad stuff,” BA says. He still has his hands on Murdock’s knees and they’re big and very warm. It’s… weirdly nice. Murdock usually only likes being touched on his own terms. “Well, as coping strategies go, I guess it’s not the worst.”

Murdock’s fingers untangle from his hair, more out of surprise than anything else. BA just nods and keeps going.

“You restarted that chopper in midair when we were in Mexico, so you can restart now, right? What’ll get you flying?”

Murdock watches him warily. “You don’t like it.”

BA shrugs. “I don’t like a lot of things. I guess I don’t like you winding up in lava more than I don’t like you spouting gibberish.”

 _Wow._ Murdock gets a little misty-eyed. “That’s really nice of you, BA.” 

BA eyes him for a moment, and then nods decisively. “And I guess we’re just gonna have to sort out a way for you to be crazy and me not to be annoyed.”

Murdock gives him the skeptical eyebrow. 

“I am capable of not being annoyed,” BA says, annoyed. Murdock laughs and claps his hands over his mouth again, even though this time it’s okay laughter. BA punches him lightly on the side of the knee. “Shut up, idiot. That thing you were doing earlier with the invisible dog, what was that?”

“Billy!” Murdock turns to look in the backseat, but the puppy’s still sleeping. He hasn’t wandered off or anything. “Good. We didn’t wake him up.”

“You were pretty quiet when you were preten- when you had the dog on your lap. You okay with him coming along for car rides from now on? Maybe showing up some other times?”

“Yeah, of course,” Murdock says. “You can see how cute he is. Who could say no to that liddle face?”

BA’s expression goes a little funny. “Yeah. Right. Is the dog enough to get you flying?”

Murdock hesitates. Billy’s really cute, and it’ll be nice to have him along, but…

“So, not entirely, then,” BA says. “How you feeling now?”

Murdock makes a face. He feels a lot better than he did before BA stopped the car, but he’s still pretty shaky inside. And he’s still worried about Hannibal’s paperwork of Murdock-Doom. It won’t take much to stall him out again. 

“I’m gliding, maybe, but not in an ultralight or anything.”

“Okay.” BA stands up and looks at him expectantly. “Well, we needed to stop and let the engine cool a little bit before it overheated anyway, so…” he gestures at the scrubland next to the jeep. “Take a flight. We’ve got time.”

Murdock blinks at him.

“Don’t tell me you can’t see that nice plane sitting there,” BA says. “Keys in the ignition, big door for unsuspecting Corporals to fall out of in mid-flight. It’s just your kind of machine.”

Murdock considers the situation. If he concentrates, he _can_ see a plane. He’s also not-crazy enough to know that he can’t actually take flight in it. 

He can come close, though. It’ll mean a lot of running. “BA, are you trying to tire me out like a toddler before we start driving again?”

“Yep,” BA says, not guilty in the slightest. “Come on. Sing a flying song or something. Howl at the moon. Yodel, I dunno. You got fifteen minutes.”

Gosh, that all sounds pretty darn tempting. Murdock stands up, and then hesitates. “I don’t want to go back to Mexico.”

BA sighs, looking heavenward for patience. “Murdock, honestly, you think a sane pilot would do even half the things Hannibal dreams up? Nobody’s sending you back to Mexico. Fly the damn plane before I shoot it down with my invisible rocket launcher.”

“I was right,” Murdock says triumphantly. “My plan worked. You _do_ like me.” He tosses his flight scarf dramatically over one shoulder and starts the pre-flight sequence. He can already feel the liftoff in his bones. “Make sure Billy doesn’t run after the plane, BA. He could get hurt.”

“Oh, for… just take off, you lunatic,” BA grumbles. “And don’t start thinking this means I’ll be flying places with you now!”

“We’re flying right now, oh BA of Racus!” Murdock whoops, and guns the engine.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

THE BEGINNING:  
THE PORT OF LOS ANGELES

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The enormity of the situation doesn’t hit Face immediately. Between the adrenaline of their escape and the need to casually switch cars every few miles and not flinch every time they hear a siren, he’s got enough on his plate to be going on with.

But after a few hours, when BA’s reached the apex of a broad arc away from LA and is starting the gradual turn back into it - because clearly the best place to hide is where the military’s already searched - he starts to come down a little. 

Hannibal’s dozing off in the front passenger seat, propped up uncomfortably against the window to ease the pressure on his ribs, but while they’ll need to find themselves some medical supplies soon Face isn’t too worried about it. One, Hannibal’s a tough old bastard. Two, the only injury they’ve got that will need real monitoring is Murdock’s concussion, and while he’s been unusually subdued since the Port he was also cleared by the medics at the scene and seems to be pretty alert. They could all use ice and painkillers and a decent nap, but it’s nothing they haven’t survived before.

Face glances over to check on Murdock and finds him looking back. They just stare at each other for a moment, Murdock woozy and Face tired, and then Murdock unclips his seat belt and crawls over to put his head in Face’s lap. It’s not the kind of intimacy Face usually allows, but it’s been a long day and he still feels a little bad about asking Murdock to spend a decent chunk of it tied up and blind before getting shot in the head. It’s a long way from Murdock’s comfort zone.

Besides, it’s not like conventions have ever applied to Murdock anyway. They could both use this right now.

“How’s the head, buddy?” he asks, rubbing Murdock’s shoulder.

Murdock sighs. “‘Sfine. It was a good plan.”

“I thought you didn’t like it,” Face says, raising his eyebrows. “I thought you wanted Hannibal to make the plans from now on.” He’s mostly teasing - the plan had worked pretty well, ultimately, even if he suspects he’s going to be seeing BA disappear under an avalanche of containers in his nightmares for a good long time to come. It will be a relief to hand the plan-making back over to Hannibal.

Murdock squirms until he can wrap his arms around Face’s leg. “You shouldn’t listen to me when I’m feeling sane.”

“And to think, for most people it usually goes the other way around,” Face says. 

Murdock presses his face wearily against Face’s leg. “My head hurts. No banter.”

“Okay, bud.” He brushes Murdock’s hair aside and frowns at the bruise forming. It’s going to be pretty spectacular once it’s come in completely. Like the rest of them, really... Face is going to have to keep his shirt on for _weeks_ if the deep ache along his back and left side are any indication.

That will probably be fine, though. He can work with that.

He swallows. He doesn’t… he doesn’t really know what’s going to happen next. Sure, he often doesn’t know what’s going to happen next, it’s a common side effect of working with a guy like Hannibal and being friends with someone like Murdock, but right now he really, _really_ doesn’t know what’s going to happen next. It had been pretty straightforward before - clear their names like Hannibal had promised, and then everything would go back to normal. He’d never really sat down to think about what ‘normal’ would mean exactly - it was enough that it wouldn’t be prison or a life as a fugitive.

And then they cleared their names, and it didn’t do anything. Sure, they’re not in prison, but that’s pretty much entirely down to Charissa’s merciful attack of conscience.

God, he really hopes that little display at the Port didn’t get her into trouble. It’s hard enough to be a woman in her position without tongue-kissing a guy she’s just helped arrest in front of her superiors. A stunt like that, while appreciated, couldn’t possibly have done her career any good.

“BA,” Hannibal says drowsily from the front seat. “Find us a bolt hole, will you? Face, get ready to scam us a room.”

“Sure,” Face says, plastering on a smile. He can’t worry about Charissa right now. He has to worry about his team. He has to worry about what they’ll do now. As Hannibal’s XO, he needs to anticipate what Hannibal will want and get it. As supply officer, he needs to keep an eye on Murdock and BA as well. BA seems pretty solid right now, but sooner or later he’ll need tools and an engine to work on, and eventually he’s going to want to see his mom. Murdock will need things to keep him distracted and… oh, geez. What if Murdock needs medication? He’s usually pretty good about coping and managing himself, for a given value of ‘managing himself’ of course, but it’s not like they can roll up to the VA and ask for an appointment if things get bad.

Even more basic than that, they’re going to need _simple_ stuff - the kind of things that are only simple if you don’t have to worry about them, like food and shelter and money and guns, and while they all have marketable skills it’s going to be tough finding employment without blowing their cover. That means it’ll mostly be up to Face and his scams.

Even if they stick together and pool their resources, maybe find some out-of-the-way place to hole up and settle, there’s going to be a manhunt on for them. This whole thing was too high-profile and too embarrassing for the Army for them to be let go without a fight. Four guys as distinctive as they are will be hard to hide.

What if they have to split up? What will they do then? Will they at least be able to stay together in pairs, or will they all have to go solo?

He can’t. Not so soon after getting his team back. Not so soon after watching them all nearly get killed.

“This one looks good,” BA says, turning off the road.

Face pushes his panic down and buries it under the familiar rhythm of conning the lady at the front desk into giving them an unpaid room - a feat made more difficult by the fact that he looks like he’s been up for two days and he smells like an explosion - and getting everyone into the motel. 

Hannibal sits down gingerly on the edge of one bed. He looks old and exhausted, two things Face doesn’t like to see. They take their cues from Hannibal in more ways than just field operations, and if _Hannibal’s_ worn out it means the day really has been something. 

Murdock wedges himself into the room’s generic armchair and refuses to budge when Face tries to make him lie down on the second bed instead. 

“Three of your four limbs are going to be completely numb within like ten minutes,” he wheedles. “Come on, there’s even a bedspread with flowers on it.”

“No,” Murdock says firmly, his head tucked impossibly between one knee and the back of the chair. Face’s spine twinges just looking at him.

“A guy scams you a nice flowery bedspread, the least you can do is nap on it,” Face says, shamelessly going for the guilt trip.

Murdock gives him a betrayed look, and unwinds himself just enough to snag the edge of the bedspread and drag it up off the bed and over his head.

“ _No,”_ he says from underneath it.

“At least it’s better than the bathtub,” BA mutters. This is true. Through trial and error they’ve discovered that Murdock is constitutionally incapable of spending more than five minutes in a bathroom without breaking into song, whether he’s concussed or supposed to be sleeping or just showering.

“Leave him be,” Hannibal agrees. “Okay, boys, I know we’re all hurting. Take a few hours to sleep. We’ll need supplies, but we can rustle up some resources after we get some shuteye.”

“I’ve got first watch,” Face says quickly. He got to space out a bit in the car, after all. BA’s had to be on point since they left the Port.

“I’ve got second,” BA says before Hannibal can volunteer. Hannibal gives them a dry look, but doesn’t protest. “There’s a letter opener on the dresser.”

As weapons go it’s a lot less comforting than a P90, but at least it’ll be easy to conceal. Face pockets it and eases out of the room.

He does a deliberately casual, ambling sweep of the perimeter and doesn’t spot anything; it’s early in the evening, but just late enough that traffic is starting to die down as everyone tries to get home before dark, and BA picked a motel that straddles the line between too shabby for detail-oriented businessmen and too far out of the way to be a destination for shady stuff. There’s not much to see and the sightlines are decent.

He gets back up to the room just in time to catch BA sneaking out.

BA hesitates for just a fraction of a second as he sees Face, and then he pushes past him. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Wait, what?” Face says, alarmed. “Now? Why?”

“I left a note,” BA says without stopping.

Face’s heart lurches. Left a note? What kind of note? He never would have pegged BA for the run-off-in-the-middle-of-the-night type, but it’s been a bad day and BA hadn’t wanted to fight in the first place.

In fact, he’d only fought because Face asked him to, and he’d only killed Pike to save Face’s ass. If that was the tipping point, if that was more than BA could take, then this is _Face’s fault._

He latches onto BA, skidding a few steps before BA gives in and stops. “BA, seriously, what’s wrong? Is something wrong?”

“I’m going to get my van,” BA says, not meeting his eyes.

It takes Face a minute to put it together, because their most recent stolen car is an elderly but very un-van-like sedan and usually BA is better at coming up with excuses than this. “What, from before we were arrested? BA, I really don’t think this is the time - I mean, I mean, if you need to leave we’ll understand, but do you really think it’s still -”

BA frowns at him. “Leaving? You think I’d _leave_ you?” 

“Well, you’re sneaking out…” Face mumbles. He can’t decide whether to feel bad about assuming the worst about BA or embarrassed for letting it slip, but he can feel his face heating and he _hates_ obvious tells.

“Because I know going for my van is a dumbass idea and I’m doing it anyway!” BA says incredulously. “ _Leave you_. Like blowing up the Port of Los Angeles would be my tipping point. Idiot.”

“Um,” Face says incoherently, reeling between the thirty-second emotional rollercoaster and the inherent strangeness of the idea that blowing up the Port of Los Angeles _wouldn’t_ be anyone’s tipping point.

Holy Christ, they _blew up the Port of Los Angeles._ What the _hell._

By the time Face shakes himself free of that little bit of strangeness, BA is already headed for the parking lot. Face dithers for a second, because on the one hand Hannibal and Murdock are asleep and injured in the motel room and on the other hand he can’t stand the idea of letting BA go off alone, and then he runs after BA.

He makes it to the horrible sedan just as BA starts the engine. BA gives him an incredulous look.

“Well, you left a note,” Face says, slipping on his most devil-may-care grin.

BA rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t make Face get out. “Fine. You can be a lookout.”

Face gives a half-hysterical little laugh. Hannibal is going to have them for _lunch_ when they get back. “You know, you’re supposed to be the sensible one.” 

"We're supposed to take turns," BA complains, turning out of the parking lot.

“So, how do you know the van is still there?” Face asks after about two blocks. Now that he’s got BA safely within view he can’t stop worrying about Murdock and Hannibal back at the motel, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. All he can do is try to focus on what he and BA are doing. “Did you pay to store it or something? And how likely is it that we’re about to walk into a trap? They did a pretty thorough job of looking into our pasts.” That part of the court martial had been particularly excruciating. “You and this van were not exactly a secret, big guy. I mean, they may not be expecting us to come for it so soon after the Port, but it still seems -”

“You trying out your Murdock impression, or are you being annoying on purpose?” BA snaps.

“Sorry.” If they’re caught again, how serious will the charges be? This time they were just arrested for the jailbreak, but it’s not going to take long for the brass to realise that a) the Port of Los Angeles just got blown up, b) that damn A-Team escaped again and made us look ridiculous, and c) hey, a scapegoat would be super useful right now.

He wonders what the charges for blowing up the Port would be _exactly._ He’s guessing destruction of property, unlawful possession of firearms (and whatever the hell was in that explosive Murdock cooked up, Face does love Murdock’s science side but he’s also long made it a policy to just not ask about that kind of thing), domestic terrorism if the military’s feeling really upstaged, probably some manslaughter charges for Lynch’s goons and maybe even murder for Pike, which Face will absolutely have to take the fall for before BA can get a word in edgewise. That could get tricky.

They might just send Murdock back to the psych ward again, but the rest of them are going to get the hammer. And, frankly, depending on the VA Murdock might _prefer_ the hammer. He seemed to do okay in Germany, but he still refuses to talk about Mexico.

Not to mention that nobody from a unit like theirs wants to be the last guy standing.

“I had a friend keeping the van for me,” BA says suddenly, derailing Face’s descent into fatalism. “Nothing on paper, nothing to trace. She’s solid. When we were arrested she stashed the van at a dead drop for me and walked away. Might need a little TLC if she hasn’t been able to check on it since then, but it’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Face says.

BA gives him a puzzled look, and Face realises belatedly that he’s missed his cue. He waggles his eyebrows. “Why BA, a _lady_ friend?”

“Uh-huh,” BA says skeptically. “We’re nearly there. I’m gonna ditch the car and check the place before we go in.” He pulls to a stop and eyes Face for a moment. “Look, I wouldn’t bring you into something I thought was a trap.”

Face feels himself settle a little bit. He never thought BA _would_ , of course, but it’s nice to hear it. For all that Face has made a business of using words to his own advantage, he’s never quite been able to break himself of the need to hear things said out loud. “I know, BA. I’ve got your back. Let’s go.”

Checking the perimeter doesn’t take long - the drop is a disused garage, separated from the surrounding buildings by a cracked parking lot, and it’s pretty easy to clear the surroundings - and the familiar rhythm of skulking around with BA helps to ground him even more. Everybody on their little team is at least partly unhinged or they wouldn’t get along so well, but even so BA’s always felt _solid_ to Face in some way that has nothing to do with physical presence. It’s comforting to be in his orbit for a little while.

After a few minutes spent watching for caution’s sake, they edge into the building. The van is in the center of the room under a tarpaulin, and it’s the work of a moment for BA to uncover it and start checking out the tires and engine. Face divides his attention between watching their perimeter and indulging his curiosity about BA’s baby. It looks a lot like the one he vaguely remembers from Mexico. 

“Alright, looks good,” BA says finally, opening the driver’s side door. “Face?”

Face abandons his position and climbs into the passenger seat. It’s comfortable. He’s not a huge expert on vans - his area of expertise is more in the luxury vehicle category - but it seems nice enough.

BA buckles himself in and puts his hands on the steering wheel, and a line of tension in his shoulders that Face hadn’t even noticed seems to melt away. He just sits there for a moment, breathing.

“This is home base,” he says finally, turning to look at Face. He has that look in his eyes again, that post-jailbreak serenity that Face remembers from the diner when he’d explained his vow of nonviolence. “This is our way out. It’ll give us shelter if we need it. I’ll keep it running, you’ll keep it supplied, and Hannibal will figure out where we’re going. Murdock is never, ever allowed to drive it. Home base.”

Face looks back into the interior of the van. It’s roomy enough for four guys to sit comfortably on long trips, although if they do wind up sleeping in it they’ll all just have to resign themselves to Murdock’s spooning habit beforehand. There’s a bin for BA’s tools and a big locker in the back that will hold anything up to rifle-size easily. He can see built-in compartments for other things as well.

It’s hardly the best-equipped Face has ever been, but it’s a long way from the worst, too. And BA’s the sensible one, after all… if he thinks this is enough, then it’s enough. Face can trust that. It’s at least enough to start with, and all he’s has ever needed is something to start with.

He doesn’t have to think of every detail. His team will help him. Sometimes he forgets that.

“Okay,” Face says, turning back. “Home base.”

BA nods gravely and starts the engine.

“It might be a good idea to stop for some supplies too, though,” Face says. He hates to break the newly optimistic mood, but survival is survival and if Hannibal realises they snuck out while he and Murdock were sleeping then it won’t matter if they’ve got a home base or not.

“We passed a cigar store on our way,” BA says, wincing. “I bet you can’t break in in under a minute.”

“Please,” Face scoffs, stretching out in his seat. It’s actually quite comfortable, now that he enjoys it a little. He may have to rethink his luxury vehicle standards. “Have you met me? Of course I can.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

THE BEGINNING:  
  
IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM,  
IF NO ONE ELSE CAN HELP,  
AND IF YOU CAN FIND THEM,  
MAYBE YOU CAN HIRE THE A-TEAM

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Well, that went balls-up in a hurry,” Face says conversationally.

BA glares at him, but it’s not like Face isn’t correct. It’s more of a reflex than anything else since glaring is about all he can do right now, _thank you Hannibal._

“Technically, the plan was completely successful,” Hannibal says around his cigar. How the man managed to keep it in his mouth through the van crash and their subsequent capture by crazy-go-nuts cultists BA has no idea, but it’s exceptionally irritating.

“Oh, yes,” Face says with bright sarcasm. “I have to hand it to you, Colonel, I never would have thought of this plan myself. Getting the girl out of the compound, sure, but arranging to have us all be captured afterwards? That was a true stroke of genius.”

“Now, Face,” Hannibal says serenely, “Every good plan has to have room for a little bit of upset.”

Let nobody ever say Hannibal doesn’t have a gift for understatement. “I told you this was a bad job,” BA mutters, testing his restraints for the nineteenth time. 

“To be fair, you were fine with the job until we found out that Sheila Rogers’s kidnapped friend was an undercover reporter,” Face says. _Traitor._ “You were fine with the Robin Hooding thing and the rescue plan until then.” 

This is true, but BA glares at Face anyway. Yeah, he liked the idea of using their skills to help people, because in a funny kind of way it makes him feel like even if it ended badly all that time spent in the Army can still be useful for something. Yeah, rescuing a girl from a weird extremist cult was a no-brainer, especially when her best friend Sheila was so worried about it.

Getting this close to a reporter driven enough to go undercover with no backup, though, _and_ letting her see them in action? Insanity. 

Hannibal had taken it as a challenge, which is worrying. He’s always been willing to take risks, but this smacks of recklessness, and that’s the last thing they need.

“Besides, Murdock’s still free,” Hannibal says airily. “He’ll think of something.”

BA winces, and catches Face doing the same. Murdock’s in a chopper, which does give him an edge, but…

They’ve all taken the military’s betrayal hard, and they’ve all dealt with it in their own ways. Hannibal’s got his increasingly complex plans (and he _smiles_ a lot more, which is starting to freak BA out). Face has his steadily more illegal approach to supply officering. BA can find an engine in need of repair anywhere he goes, even if sometimes he’s reduced to things like lawnmowers and kitchen mixers, and in any case it’s easier for him than the others. This is the _second_ time he’s been kicked out, and he might be a wanted fugitive this time but he’s also still got his team. On balance, even if he can only contact his mom from burner phones and they have to watch what they say, he’s actually ahead.

Murdock, of course, has been the curveball. BA would have expected his crazy to get worse. He was if not ready then at least braced for the personas to get more extreme or for the invisible dog to be joined by a menagerie (and if BA once devoted an entire afternoon to figuring out how the hell Murdock was going to mentally justify his invisible dog getting from Baghdad to the States, well, nobody ever has to know.) If Hannibal’s always got a plan and Face always has a scheme, then Murdock is ‘wtf’ given physical form.

Instead of crazy, though, Murdock got quiet, and BA doesn’t think any of them knows exactly what that means. It’s a different quiet than the one from all those years ago, when Murdock was freaking out about being kicked off the team and BA didn’t know him well enough yet to see through his behavior. That one had been tinged with panic. This one is just… confused.

“Hannibal,” Face says reluctantly, glancing at BA for support. “Maybe we should come up with something from our end, too.”

That’s going to be hard. Whether due to a shrewd understanding of their captives or pure dumb luck (BA leans strongly towards the latter), the cultists tied them up with duct tape instead using cuffs, thus rendering Face’s lockpicking skills and carefully hidden lockpicks totally useless. Duct tape’s still possible to get out of, if you have the right tools available, but the room they’re being kept in has proven to be disappointingly sharp-edge free. BA, the only one of them strong enough to maybe snap duct tape without starting a tear first, has been practically mummified with the stuff. It’s viciously annoying and if Face tells him _one more time_ to take it as a compliment he’s gonna break something that Face will really not like.

There aren’t even any guards standing within earshot for Face or Hannibal to work on verbally. It’s the luck of idiots, as far as BA’s concerned, and unfortunately it’s protecting them from a world of BA’s specially dealt hurt.

“Murdock’s pulled off plenty of rescues before. We’ll be fine,” Hannibal says. If it weren’t for the awkward way his hands are tied behind his back he’d look relaxed enough to be on a beach somewhere.

Face’s mouth tightens, but he falls silent. After a moment he says quietly, “Yeah. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

BA knows the other two are worried. Face shows it the most, using his scamming skills to find Murdock wacky t-shirts and free passes to dinky little roadside carnivals and once even a petting zoo, but Hannibal shows it too in his own way. There was no real strategic value to having Murdock airlift Sheila and her friend out on this job, and in fact stopping to make the transfer probably contributed to getting the rest of them captured. The only reason to include it in the plan was as an excuse to get Murdock airborne.

For himself, BA knows he should be relieved by Murdock’s quiet - inasmuch as BA has acclimatised to him over the years, Murdock does tend to irritate the crap out of him. He’s like a little brother that BA can’t stand but can’t get rid of. 

“Bet he tries to use the damn invisible dog as a distraction,” he blurts out. He feels like an idiot as soon as he says it, because if anything Murdock will come in all subdued and unsettling, but Face immediately turns to him in relief so it couldn’t have been so bad.

“Remember the time he painted that chopper up like a cloud so he could use it in stealth mode?”

BA grimaces. ‘Stealth mode’ had been pretty far from reality - the chopper still made a ton of noise, and Murdock’s idea of realistic clouds had included a Care Bear and an incredibly garish rainbow. It had provided a good distraction, though.

“My money’s on explosives of some kind,” Hannibal says. “If he took out the perimeter fence on the north and timed it right, he could swing down and get us while the guards were looking the other way.”

“I’m not flying out of here,” BA says automatically. “I’ll walk first, Hannibal.” He strongly feels that it’s safe to assume that even quiet-Murdock is a menace behind the controls of any kind of aircraft.

“Well, maybe run,” Face says, grinning. “Since they’ll be shooting at us and everything. Oh, maybe he’ll use knockout gas. Then he can actually get you on the chopper!”

BA’s really, really tied up, but he does his best to kick Face anyway. Face just laughs, the bastard. Still, at least that pretty-boy smile is solid on his face now, instead of pasted on like it had been earlier. BA might not be able to protect his team physically right now, but at least he can do this much.

“Hell would he get knockout gas, idiot,” BA mutters.

Hannibal beams at them both like they’re all at Christmas dinner instead of tied up in a shack. “If Face can get his hands on a ‘53 Cadillac convertible in the middle of the Sahara, I think Murdock can probably find knockout gas in northern California.”

“Fantastic,” BA grumbles, but it actually does make him feel a bit better. Not just because if the chopper is inevitable he’d prefer to be unconscious for it than not, but because it’s a good reminder that even knocked off-balance the way they are they’re still a formidable and resourceful bunch of guys.

Of course, they’re also still tied up, which puts a damper on any optimism. But even so.

“You know, boys, I’ve been thinking,” Hannibal says. “Now that we don’t have to report to the military any more we don’t have to worry about oversight or psych evals or disciplinary records, because ours are already trashed.”

“Well, we have to worry about getting arrested,” Face points out dryly.

Hannibal inclines his head in acknowledgement of this point, but doesn’t stop smiling. “My point is that we ran this like one of our old ops and it worked to an extent, but from here on out I think we should improvise more.”

“Improvise _more,”_ BA says flatly. 

“Like in jazz,” Hannibal says cheerfully. “There’s an overarching structure to follow - in this case the initial plan - but there’s room for a good deal of expression within it. We should take advantage of that. Have a little fun.”

BA and Face trade looks. Either Hannibal has something already in the works that he’s particularly pleased with, in which case they should buckle up, or he’s finally lost it.

“In fact,” Hannibal says with satisfaction, “I think I hear our first musician finally getting ready to play.”

BA cocks his head, listening for the helicopter, but the most he can hear is a far-off car engine. Face opens his mouth to comment, but before he can get a word out they’re deafened by what sounds like half the compound blowing up.

BA throws himself flat, instinctively trying to angle towards Face and forgetting that he’s too tied up to make it work. He winds up awkwardly half on his front, his ears ringing and his mouth full of dust.

“Sound off!” Hannibal says, coughing.

“Here,” BA gasps, trying to sort out the sensory information coming at him. His ears are still ringing from the explosion, but he thinks he can hear gunfire and… someone on a megaphone?

“Is that Murdock doing his Cagney impression?” Face wheezes incredulously. He seems to be unharmed, which is good. Now that BA’s ears are clearing a little, he also seems to be right about the Cagney impression. Behind the sound of the cultists screaming their tiny extremist heads off, he’s pretty sure he can also hear Murdock’s John Wayne coming inexplicably from the opposite direction.

“The hell?” BA manages, but before anyone can respond to him there’s a bang and the front wall of their shed collapses completely.

On the plus side, now they can see what’s happening. On the minus side, there’s a board across BA’s legs and he can’t actually make sense of what he’s seeing. There’s a lot of fire and smoke and confusion, and somewhere in the middle of it he can make out someone careening crazily around the compound in a... mutated armored car thing?

“If he stuck steel plates to my van I’m going to _kill him,”_ BA swears, wriggling furiously in an attempt to get himself moderately upright.

“BA, priorities?” Face says plaintively, trying to find a bit of debris that’s sharp enough to help him with his duct tape.

“Killing him involves getting free!”

“Fair point,” Hannibal grunts, hopping awkwardly over to a likely-looking piece of wall. He’s finally lost his cigar, which makes BA feel a tiny bit better.

Sheila Rogers skidding to a stop in front of the remains of their shed with a Swiss Army knife in her hand helps even more. “Hi, guys - who wants to be freed first?”

“Face, then me, then BA,” Hannibal says immediately. “Sorry, BA, but you’ll take the longest.”

BA sighs and stops struggling, waiting as Sheila cuts the others free and turns her attention to him. “Wow. What did you do to make them so angry?”

BA’s only half paying attention to her efforts, because he’s trying to keep an eye on Face and Hannibal as they head out to secure weapons and give Murdock a hand. “I punched them repeatedly.” He trails off a little, suddenly distracted. “What’s that pinned to your shirt?”

“Oh.” Sheila giggles self-consciously and keeps sawing at the tape on BA’s legs. “That’s my star. Murdock deputized me and Amy and made us badges out of a candy bar wrapper. Can you sit up?”

“He made you badges?” BA says, hauling himself upright. That’s something the old Murdock would have done, and it’s terrible that something as silly as a grown man wasting time during a rescue to do arts and crafts can feel like a good sign. “And Amy came back too?”

“Yeah.” Sheila moves around so she can get a better angle on BA’s wrists. “She wanted to help blow stuff up, but we realised that the brainwashed ones were more likely to listen to her than to any of the rest of us, so she’s trying to get them out of the way of Murdock and the guys with guns.”

The last of BA’s restraints part with a snap. He still has tape stuck to him everywhere, but he can move and he needs to go check on his team _yesterday._ “Okay. Stay with me - we’re going to make for the van.” Hopefully he’ll run across an armed thug he can shake down for weaponry on the way, but if not he can at least get some explosives from Murdock and stash Sheila behind the armor plating before heading out again.

Instead of a goon they run into Amy, who is armed with a two-by-four and looking disturbingly gleeful about having the opportunity to hit people with it.

“You knock out anybody who was armed with that thing?” BA asks, trying not to wince as she takes out a guy wielding an honest-to-God _lamp_. How did they ever get taken down by these guys? It’s a good thing they’re not in the Army any more, because BA would be too embarrassed to go back to HQ.

“Yeah, but one of your friends got his gun,” Amy says. “Sorry. I saw some guys over by the meeting hall, though, and they had rifles. Want to go get them?”

“Oh, _Amy,”_ Sheila sighs, in the tone of voice usually reserved for adorable but disobedient pets.

“Let’s make for the van,” BA says. He likes her enthusiasm, but he likes getting everybody out alive more. Face and Hannibal will just have to deal with the meeting hall guys… and if he anticipates his team correctly, Face has just taken the roof of the gazebo in preparation for covering Hannibal as he comes around at the meeting hall through the community garden.

It’s easier said than done, of course, because Murdock won’t stop swerving through the compound and causing as much confusion as humanly possible. By the time they manage to get close enough for him to spot them and stop Amy has handed out two more concussions, BA has realised his dream of getting to physically explain to the crazy cultists why one shouldn’t a) brainwash people, b) kidnap reporters, and c) mummify anyone with duct tape, and the fight is basically over.

Murdock screeches to a halt, showering them with dirt, and bounces out of the passenger-side door. He has a Twizzler clenched in his teeth, one of Face’s ties wrapped bandana-style around his head, and… what _is_ it with these white boys and stealing BA’s favorite shirts?

As he slams the car door, one of the steel panels falls off with a bang. BA’s not surprised - now that he’s up close he can see just how atrocious the welding job was. 

“BA, I have a bone to pick with you,” Murdock says, looking aggrieved. “It would have been a lot easier to pull this rescue off with the chopper, but your shirt wouldn’t even let me get in! You must be really afraid of flying, big guy, if it’s even rubbed off on your clothes.”

BA _might_ maybe be so relieved to see Murdock acting normally that he hugs him, but Sheila and Amy are looking the other way and Murdock is delusional so no one will ever be able to say for sure.

“This is the worst welding job I’ve ever seen in my life,” he says gruffly a moment later.

“Well, I was only _pretending_ to be you,” Murdock says reasonably. “Why are you covered in duct tape?”

“For some reason they seemed to think he was dangerous,” Hannibal says mildly, ambling up with an assault rifle cradled in the crook of his arm and a bandolier of ammunition looped over one shoulder. Face is just behind him, fussing with the sad remains of a roll of tape. BA is tempted to glare, but then he notices how thoroughly Face has used it on the cultists and goes for smug satisfaction instead. Let _them_ try to wiggle free. “Nice rescue, Murdock.”

“Thank you,” Murdock says, with what is unmistakably a Face impression. He holds out a Twizzler. “Cigar, Colonel?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Hannibal says, taking it gravely. “Where did you get the speakers? I’m assuming that’s how you ended up with Cagney and the Duke as misdirection.”

“There’s a mine a few miles down the road,” Murdock says. “Face scammed some parts. And a vehicle, when BA wouldn’t let me use his van.”

“Aw, BA, you wouldn’t even let him drive it in an emergency?” Face says, his expression angelically disappointed.

“I wasn’t there and neither were you. We were _tied up in a shack,”_ BA reminds him. Face just laughs.

“Every good plan needs to have room for a little bit of upset,” Hannibal says. “In this case, the upset was the rest of us being… indisposed. You did some very nice improvising, Captain.” He grins at BA. “You must have had a _little_ bit of fun, BA.”

“Fine, but -” BA begins, and then stops as several things suddenly click into place.

1\. Hannibal always has a plan.  
2\. Everything’s been wrong since the Port.  
3\. Just now everything felt right again.  
4\. Because Murdock’s back to his old self  
5\. Which allows the rest of them to step back into their usual places  
6\. Which wouldn’t have happened if Murdock hadn’t been on his own  
7\. Which wouldn’t have happened if they hadn’t been captured.

BA narrows his eyes. “Just how much of this did you _actually_ plan, Hannibal?”

“There’s a plan in everything, kid,” Hannibal says. “Sometimes we see it, sometimes we don’t. Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Yeah, I did,” BA says slowly. It had been something, all right - that adrenalised, jazzed-up buzz in his blood that he hasn’t felt strongly since Baghdad, and hasn’t felt at all since the Port. Sometimes he almost swears he can sense the rest of his team without looking when it gets like that. Hannibal was right in the shack - it is kind of like music.

“Hannibal, can I say it?” Murdock begs.

“Well, it was your rescue, Captain,” Hannibal says generously. “I don’t see why not.”

Murdock lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Wait, let me get ready. This is a momentous occasion. Face, do you have any tips? You got to say it once.” 

Face considers this. “You really just have to go with your gut. Just let it happen naturally. You’ll be okay, bud.”

Murdock does a few stretches and then poses, adjusting the Twizzler between his teeth. “I _love_ it when a together comes to plan.”

“Nice, Murdock,” Hannibal approves. Face claps.

“Y’all are _all_ crazy,” BA says, although he can’t bring himself to put too much heat into it. 

“Well, then,” Hannibal says. “Amy, Sheila, I hate to rescue and run, but would you two mind helping us tie things up here with the authorities?”

“By which you mean call them and never mention your names,” Sheila says dryly. She looks horribly amused by their antics.

“I’ve got some contacts I can call,” Amy says. “I don’t suppose any of you would be interested in meeting up later for an exclusive?”

“No,” Face says immediately. "Although... if you wanted to find out some things, you might try talking to Captain Charissa Sosa. DCIS."

"Thanks, I think," Amy says, smiling.

“And if you come across something you think might be in our line of work your friend knows how to contact us,” Hannibal adds. “All right, team - let’s get moving.”

They pile into the terrible substitute van and creak out of the compound. Murdock might be an acceptable pilot, but he’s a terrible driver. BA’s honestly not sure the suspension on this thing’s going to hold until they get to the real van, and the less said about the transmission the better.

Still, he can’t help but feel strangely optimistic. They need to get out of the area before the authorities arrive, but he’s confident they can do it. After all, Hannibal makes the plans and Face gets the equipment, but it’s up to BA to get them places.

And Murdock… well, Murdock makes it interesting. You can definitely say that about the man.

"Hey," Murdock says, breaking BA's reverie. "Can we swing by the airport? Billy's flight gets in at four-thirty."

Oh, for _crying out loud._

**Author's Note:**

> The title for this story comes from me panicking, Googling the phrase ‘just after the beginning’, and deciding that the Wikipedia page for ‘Chronology of the Universe’ would probably get me a better title than ‘Whole Foods Turnaround’ or ‘Detroit’s Historic Bankruptcy Approval’. So, as unlikely as it seems, this A-Team fic gets its name from internet astrophysics.
> 
> The idea for this story came while I was using Yuletide as an excuse to marathon both the 2010 movie and the original show. One of the things that struck me was the difference in BA’s attitude towards Murdock - in the movie he still gets exasperated by Murdock’s antics, refuses to fly with him, and does issue a few threats, but it’s a long way from show!BA who yelled at him frequently and once or twice tried to strangle him to make him shut up. In fact, Movie!BA comes across as practically _indulgent_ when it comes to Murdock - just watch the barbecue scene. I thought there had to have been a moment during the ‘8 years, 80 missions later’ gap in which BA comes to understand Murdock a little better and maybe something happens to trigger the gentler side that show!BA mostly only used with people he considered under his protection. And thus, the whole story was born.
> 
> Finally, I owe a lot of Murdock’s characterisation in this story to [this](http://lelied.tumblr.com/post/59187125151/i-showed-gamer-bro-j-the-a-team-reboot-and-he) bit of meta. For serious finally, I owe a huge thanks to anemptymargin for requesting an A-Team story, because I loved the movie too but I'd never thought of trying my hand at fic. I hope you enjoyed my attempt! :D


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